Cold Wax......Originally Used in Torture Camps

OK - for the record - this is NOT me. I have no clue who this poor soul is but I almost wet my pants reading about her ordeal.


One Woman's Tale of Woe

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax. My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the was strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX??? Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.
CRAP!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut! Butt??
Sealed shut!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!


I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter... "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulations from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE...ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point and wouldn't have known it until the following morning!!

After you dry your eyes (and your pants) ask yourslef this....WHY do we (women) do this kind of thing? We know that it's stupid. Hell, half of us can't stand to pull a bandaid off fast so why would we dare smear any type of adhesive on our nether regions and yank?!?! I'll tell you why - MEN. We pluck, shave, bleach, rip and electorcute any stray hair we find so that men will find us attractive. Meanwhile, most men have hair growing out of every oraface and we are supposed to find it "manly". Whatever! Girls, next time your boyfriend or husband rubs your legs and says "bout time to wax don't cha think" just reach over and yank out a hand full of chest hair. I bet it will be the last time he mentions your hair removal procedures.

A Moment of Silence Please

May we please have a moment of silence for those recently done passed…

Punkin, Fuzzy and Superchicken

I swear! They were in today's CA.

PMS

Q: How many women with PMS does it take to change a light bulb?

A: One!!! ONLY ONE!!!! And do you know WHY? Because no one else in this house knows HOW to change a light bulb! They don't even know that the bulb is BURNED OUT!! They'd sit there in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it out!! And, once they figured it out, they wouldn't be able to find the light bulbs despite the fact they've been in the SAME CUPBOARD for the past 13 YEARS! But if they did, by some miracle of God, actually find the bulbs 2 DAYS LATER, the chair they dragged to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!!!!! AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE WRAPPER THE STUPID LIGHT BULBS CAME IN!!! BECAUSE NO ONE EVER CARRIES OUT THE GARBAGE!!!! IT'S A WONDER WE HAVEN'T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM THE PILES OF GARBAGE THAT ARE A FOOT DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS DAMNED HOUSE!


I'm sorry. What was your question?

This Is a Funny Site

OK - this site is too funny and too true. Click on the title above to get there. There is quite a bit of foul language so if that offends you, don't click the link.

My New Jeep Makes Me Sick

I will be danged if riding around in a vehicle with COLD air hasn't given me a sore throat. I told Honey that the car he bought makes me sick...........he was offended. The way my luck goes, just about the time that my body gets used to having air conditioning the compressor will go out and I will catch Pneumonia.

Cheerleading is Dangerous

Baby Girl sustained her first sports related injury last night. I’ve mentioned that she is cheering for the first time this year and loving it. Well, she has practice on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s from 6 – 7:45p. They are getting ready for football season and all of the girls are working really hard. Baby Girl is the “top” for all stunts because she is the smallest on the squad. Last night, she was formally introduced to the pain of a sports related injury. She didn’t fall off the pyramid or twist and ankle doing jumps. No, my Baby Girl got her hand slammed in a car door after practice.

I arrived to pick her up from practice at 7:45p. I had to talk to the sponsor and get her shoes, socks, mid-drift (huh – she’s 8), drop off $25 for “cheer mom” shirts, $25 for “cheer dad” shirts, $10 for “spirit shirt”, $17 for a decal to stick on my car to let everyone know that I am stupid enough to invest butt loads of money for an 8 year old to cheer and $12 for building rental so that the girls don’t die of heat stroke practicing outside. So, there I was doling out cash and getting the rundown on when she is supposed to wear her cheer shoes when I heard the most blood curdling scream.

I turned around in time to see my daughter clutching her hand and screaming while one of the dads tried to comfort her. I ran (yes, I can run) across the parking lot to find that her hand had been accidentally slammed in the door by one of her teammates. Baby Girl was hysterical! I finally got her to let me look at it and there was a long, deep indention across the top of her right hand that matched the door latch. One of the other moms had the ice from her coke left so I dumped it out and held it on Baby Girl’s hand and started talking to her to calm her down.

Meanwhile – the dad is about to have a breakdown. It was his car door in which her hand got slammed and it was his child that did the slamming. I really thought he was going to cry – he was so concerned and stood there wringing his hands saying, “I am so sorry, I am so sorry”. He had already run and gotten her a bag of ice for her hand and then he carried her to the car. I assured him she would be fine but the poor guy was just so upset.

On the way home she was complaining that she couldn’t move her fingers. Now, the first question I asked her when this happened was if she felt like she was going to throw up – the first sign of a broken bone. She said no. So, the logical side of me that has had more than my share of injuries, knew it wasn’t broken but the mother side of me would rather be safe than sorry. Not to mention that she is a drama queen and I knew that she wasn’t going to believe it wasn’t broken until someone in a white coat told her so. So, I headed to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital with our dripping bag of ice water and checked in at the desk. Baby Girl informed the intake nurse that her hand was broken. We filled out paperwork and had a seat in the waiting room. Baby Girl informed me that she wanted a pink cast – or maybe green to match her uniform. I told her we needed to wait for the doctor to decide. She then informed me that she had gotten the hand brace (stole it from Nana’s yard sale stuff a few weeks ago) because she “saw this coming”. Oh the drama! Anyway, we went to triage and they took her blood pressure with the automatic cuff which she said was cutting her arm off. Good thing we were in a hospital. They gave her a Loratab (sp?) for the “severe pain” and we waited some more and some more and some more. We finally got back to the “room” which was the hallway in the Peds ER and waited some more. While we were there we saw a child with a gash in his head about 5 inches long, another child with a crushed toe getting a cast, a teen come in on a stretcher with a huge wrapping on his leg and blood everywhere, a child getting stitches to a gash on his chest and we listened to another child vomit for 4 hours. The there was us with basically a busted blood vessel and an overactive sense of the dramatic. I really felt kind of stupid sitting there but again – better safe than sorry.

We finally got to go back for x-rays where Baby Girl informed the nurse that her hand was broken and she wanted a pink cast. The nurse told her we would have to wait and see what the doctor said to which she replied, “that’s what my mamma said”. Like, Dang! I guess she got to you too. We finished the x-rays and went back to our hall and waited. FINALLY the doctor came over and told us that her hand wasn’t broken (duh) but that she was going to put her in a sling for a few days and she was on “restrictive duty” until she was pain free. Ummmm – am I the only person that has been watching her use her hand to fluff her pillow, readjust herself on the bench and move it in every direction to get x-rays? I would say she is pain free now but I’m only a mother and I didn’t go to medical school so I’m sure I’m an idiot.

We left the hospital with our sling and our prescription for Loratab. We hadn’t eaten dinner yet so we pulled through McDonald’s to get some food. She said she needed “something easy to eat with my left hand” so instead of her normal Big Mac, she got two hamburgers and an order of fries (which she ate with her right hand). We got home extremely late and she was exhausted. She got in bed and was out in 2 minutes.

This morning, I kept her home from school. Not because of her arm but because she’d only had like 5 hours sleep and she requires at least 10 hours to even function. When she finally emerged from her room, with her sling and her hospital bracelets still on her arm she requested ice cream for breakfast. I explained that she is not sick and her arm isn’t broken so she is NOT having ice cream for breakfast. “Fine – I guess I’ll just have a bagel then” is her response.

I got a call from the mother of the “slammer” to check on Baby Girl. I assured her that everything was fine. She was almost as upset as the dad. She wanted to help pay the bills or something and I told her no that it was an accident and that I have good insurance. So, she got my address so that she can “send her something”. Oh Lord – the child is going to start slamming body parts in doors to get balloons now.

I’m very glad that Baby Girl didn’t sustain a serious injury but I think I would be way more compassionate if she had. I mean I have a really hard time sympathizing with someone who wears a sling for a busted blood vessel. Don’t get me wrong, I know it hurt and I know it scared her and in the moment, I was extremely compassionate and loving. But today…………yeah, the going from romping in the floor and wrestling with the dog to sitting on the couch in a sling propped up on 3 pillows is really starting to get old. When she tells me how much her hand hurts I want so badly to say, “oh yeah, well if you think a smashed hand hurts just wait until you get an episiotomy!” If I make it to her 14th birthday it will be a miracle!

Ding Dong the Jeep is Dead

I am sad to inform you that the POS Jeep is dead. She developed a bad cough over the weekend and succumbed to her disease around 7:20am yesterday. I know she will be missed as she was the source of countless days of amusement for all who knew her. I don’t know if she was in pain but she did go quickly. She will be laid to rest this evening. The family requests that all gifts be sent to the Jeep Electrical Research Foundation.

PARENTAL ADVISORY:
The following is a graphic account of her death. If there are minors in the room, this would be a good time to cover their ears so they don’t think you’ve gone crazy when you start laughing.

As everyone knows the POS Jeep was called that for a reason. It had no air, the side mirror was busted, there was a crack in the windshield, the power windows only worked if you held the wires together with pliers, the tires were bald, the headliner drooped, there was a power steering leak, an oil leak and the tags were expired. A few months ago I replaced the distributor wires and the fuel pump to the tune of $1000. The vehicle was only worth about $37 so you can see why I decided that I wasn’t going to spend another dime on it. Two months ago, I paid it off and was LOVING not having a car note. You know what that means…..

Everyone also knows that I procrastinate like no other human on the planet. Baby Girl started school yesterday morning but I hadn’t gotten her registered. Not due to procrastination as I went on the designated registration date but I failed to bring the pint of blood and satellite photo of my home required to get her registered in a Shelby County School. So, at 7am I drove to my office to get the required paperwork so that my child could attend the 3rd grade.

Now, let me preface this with some background from the weekend. Honey and I went loaded up Bug and Baby Girl Sunday morning and went to Church. We took separate vehicles because he had to leave straight from Church and drive to Missouri to take the Bug back to her mother. On the way to Church, the POS started acting up a bit. It would rev to 5000rpms while losing power and dropping my speed to 40mph. After Church, I drove home without incident and chocked it up to the fact that my car is evil and it didn’t want to go to Church. Later on that day I had some errands to run and it did it again (it obviously doesn’t like errand running either). I checked the transmission fluid and it was low so I added some. I checked the oil –it was fine. I checked every fluid I know to check and they were all fine. Baby girl and I continued to run our errands without any more problems so I figured the transmission fluid has worked. WRONG!

I left my house on Monday at 7am so that I could get back before Honey had to leave for work and I could have Baby Girl at the school by 8am (school starts at 9a). I drove to my office with no problems. I ran in and collected the 426 documents required to prove that I still live in the same house I did last year. The same documentation that they copied last year and put in her file. (I guess this means that all that “permanent record following you for life” really is a load of crap) I get back in my car –its 7:10 – I’m doing good. I leave my office and pull onto G’Town Parkway to get on the Interstate. I pulled up to the red light and stopped………..and so did my POS. I tried to crank it but it wouldn’t stay cranked. I started praying, “Please God, it is Monday and about to be rush hour – PLEASE don’t make me be stranded in the middle of G’Town Parkway.” I picked up the phone to call Honey and realized that I’d failed to charge the battery so it was dead. I was now praying harder and repeatedly trying to start my car. I FINALLY got it cranked just as traffic broke and I gunned it. The Jeep lurched forward and I was on the Interstate! Now, this car is bucking me like an unbroken bronco and my max speed is about 50mph. I kept the peddle to the floor the entire ¼ mile to my exit. As I got off the Interstate, it died again but I managed to coast into the BP and park. I get 35 cents out of my purse and walk over to the payphone to call Honey. I put my money in……nothing. I hit the coin return, reinsert my money and still….nothing. I start to have vending machine flashbacks and start to wonder what the penalty is for kicking the crap out of a pay phone. I know you’re not supposed to mess with mailboxes but I’m fairly certain pay phones don’t fall into the same category. Just as I am about to rip the handset out of this stupid box I notice the sticker……….”Local calls 50 cents – no change provided”.

OK – two things puzzled me here. First of all – when did pay phones start costing 50 cents? I was shocked. But what puzzled me the most was “no change provided”. Exactly what kind of coins would you put in a pay phone that costs 50 cents that would require change? I mean, I guess if you had a quarter and 3 dimes you would require change, but how many people don’t have two quarters or a combination of coins that add up to exactly 50 cents? And truthfully, are there really enough people on the planet that have complained about not receiving a nickel’s worth of change to require a disclaimer sticker? To me, if in this day and age, if you are desperate enough to have to use a PUBLIC phone – a nickel really isn’t going to be at the top of your list of concerns.

Back to my story. Honey takes me home but he has to get to work by 8a. I call Nana and ask if I can borrow TJ’s car to take Baby Girl to school. TJ has a Miata that hasn’t been driven in a while because she doesn’t currently have a license. Therefore, the tags on the Miata expired in June. I told Nana that I didn’t care, I would risk a ticket. Now, the Miata doesn’t have air or a radio BUT is has a drop top so we were good to go. Baby Girl was thrilled to be going to school in a convertible. I got her ready, gathered my stuff and out we went to go to school.

I am 5’4” and the Miata is about 2’8”. I opened the door to get in and about broke my neck trying to “break my fall”. I didn’t think my butt was ever going to hit that seat! We cruised to school unencumbered by police and got Baby Girl registered for the 3rd grade. I then went on to my office, praying all the way that no cops pulled up behind me. I mean, what cop is going to buy, “well officer, my POS blew up this morning and even though I’d known for a month when I was supposed to register my child for school, I hadn’t done it so I had to drive an illegal car in order to keep her from missing out on her education. I was trying to protect the tax payers from having to support her when she winds up being an illiterate. Oh, why am I now at work? Well, I have to go to work in order to pay the taxes that support other illiterates whose parents failed to register them for school. Yes sir, I am single handedly trying to break the cycle and stamp out illiteracy.” See what I’m saying……..not a good argument,

30 minutes after I arrive at my office the phone rings and its Honey. He’s bought me a new vehicle and I need to come with him to sign some paperwork. He will be at my office in 10 minutes. I wait and answer some emails, take a few phone calls and wait some more. I finally get the call that he is outside. I walk outside to see my Honey sitting in the passenger seat of a beautiful, white…………JEEP!!!! I almost fell over. He has hated my Jeep since day one and has said 1000 times that I would never own another one but there she sat – pretty as a picture. I drove it back to the lot with him, signed some paperwork and drove back to the office in my new Jeep…….with AIR, working windows, no visor banging me in the head, no headliner drooping and it even has a CD player!!! I drove all the way back to my office with the air on full blast while I repeatedly rolled my windows up and down like some kind of cave person that had never seen such advanced technology.

So, while we are saddened to see the POS go (yeah, right), we are rejoicing in the fact that I now have a REAL vehicle that is safe, clean and cool. We are also grateful to God for allowing me to make it to the BP and not leaving me to die in the middle of G’Town Parkway during rush hour traffic. I’ve learned to make sure my cell phone is ALWAYS charged and to carry exact change for a pay phone “just in case”. But mostly, I am so glad that Baby Girl is now officially a 3rd grader and not roaming the streets, begging for money so that she can get “hooked on phonics”.

Planning My Wedding

Call off the dogs! I'm not dead just trying to plan my wedding and move 300 people to a new building. I PROMISE I will have a new post this week. Lots has been happening. Bug has been here for 2 weeks and has a new interesting habit. Honey and I had our 1st Anniversary, Baby Girl is getting ready to go back to school and Nugget is in heat AGAIN. Anyway - I swear I will have at least one new post before Friday so quit sending the police to my house.

Directions to the Archives.......

Someone asked "where are the archives". If you are having trouble finding them.........look on the sidebar to the right of the screen.............now scroll down. Do you see the word Archives? That's them! They are filed by week - start with the earliest date and work your way towards the present.

Don't Forget to Read the Archives

There are alot of folks checking out this blog now and I wanted to remind everyone to READ THE ARCHIVES! If you like the stories I tell you really need to look at some of the first. The very first post is titled Child Support. Since this is an ongoing saga of my life with my family and neighbors, you have to read the first posts to understand who all of these people are. If you don't check them out you are really missing out on a LOT of funny stuff.

My Honey, Cruise Control & Fried Desserts

I love My Honey more that words can express but last night……..if I’d been in the same room with him I probably would’ve caught an assault charge.

I’ve told you that Honey drives a beautiful Dodge Ram 1500. I’ve also mentioned that I drive a POS Jeep Grand Cherokee. Now – in case it’s not obvious – Honey is a M-A-N. That means that he feels that certain things are a necessity in a vehicle…..like T.V., satellite radio, a radar detector, room service…….you name it, it’s a necessity. Anyway, last night he was on his way to a job in Arkansas and he called me to let me know that he “was going to have to get a new truck”. I am immediately concerned as I take this to mean that the truck he currently owns has either been stolen or is totaled. I ask if he is ok. “Yes, I’m fine but my cruise control isn’t working”. WHAT!?!?! I listened to him complain about his non-working cruise control for about two minutes without saying a word. He finally said, “Are you there?” Oh yeah – I was there.

I said, “Do you realize that you are talking to a person that drives a 1994 Jeep with bald tires, no air and windows that have to be hot-wired in order to roll them up or down? Not to mention the fact that the clip on my driver’s side visor is broken so every time I turn it smacks me in the head and the shocks on my back hatch don’t work half the time so the door tries to decapitate me every time I open it?!?! And you have the nerve to call me and tell me that YOU need a new vehicle because your CRUISE CONTROL DOESN’T WORK!?!?!? PUSH THE FRUGGIN PEDAL AND QUIT YOUR WHINING!”

For a moment the phone was silent then I heard, “Uhhh, I guess my cruise control isn’t really a big deal in comparison. Besides, I think it’s still under warranty.” OMG – the dang thing is under warranty and he is talking about a new truck……….I said, “You are so pretty and I love you so much” (code for – you are really on my nerves) and hung up the phone.

I called Erin (his sister – the lawyer) to find out what the max sentence for assault was. She said that it would be better if I only batter him because then I would win my torte. Huh? I think Erin was drunk. Here I was talking about physically abusing her brother and all she could think about was some kind of deep fried dessert? I think all of those law classes have finally melted her brain.

This is Baby Girl's room. I built her a loft so she would have more floor space. I worked for almost a week painting and building it all by myself in colors specified by her. Pretty cool huh?

Imagine my suprise when I walked in and saw that she had "decorated" her ceiling. These are her hand prints and that's not paint. It's purple SUNSCREEN. You know the kind that is supposed to vanish when rubbed in.....yeah - that only works on skin. 

My Name in Print....I Am Somebody Now!

If you haven't read your Commercial Appeal today - make sure to check out the story on the front page of the M section. It's called Cyberspace Confessional and my little blog here is mentioned. Keep on reading.......maybe on day we will be famous :)

More Pics of the Humans

We had a Birthday BBQ for Erin at her home last weekend. I wanted to post a few pictures of some more of the stars of this show that I hadn't introduced you to visually yet.

This is Nelly - can you see why I call him that? 

This is Erin - she is the Princess of whatever Mom is the Queen of. 

Mom - she claims to be the Queen of something but we're not exactly sure what. 

Meet Tiger. He is very serious about his cupcakes. 

Fabio REALLY enjoyed the ribs